


A Dressing-Down

by Venivincere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Spanking, petticoating, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is taught to behave by an enthusiastic Arthur. Humor, PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dressing-Down

**Author's Note:**

> For the Pornish Pixies May Fantasy Fest, for Aspen.
> 
> Posted to Skyehawke here: http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=8652 on June 2, 2005.

She may have gone too far this time. As a rule, Arthur never called her out for her over-generous gestures, and in return she never scolded too much about his preoccupation with all things Muggle. In the main, after all, they never interfered, and in fact had done some good in the matter of disciplining the children, though she couldn't figure out how; back when the children were old enough to be somewhat self-sufficient but young enough to think they were better than their parents, Arthur had said "Let me handle this," and taken them out to the garage for a little quality time amongst the Muggle artifacts. A few nights "helping out" with Arthur and they were all "Yes, mum," "Thank you, mum," "may I help you with that, mum?" How could she argue with that?  
  
But telling Dumbledore " _certainly_  Draco Malfoy can stay with us until he finishes school! Poor boy. Father in Azkaban and what kind of mother leaves her son?" left Arthur's smile strained and a strange glint in his eye.  
  
Later on in bed, she apologized. "I know you didn't like the boy's father, Arthur, but is that any reason to let the child suffer?"  
  
"I -- suppose not, my dear. We'll make the best of it. He couldn't be worse than Fred and George, now, could he?"  
  
::---------------------------::  
  
"EEEUUUUURRRRGGHH! Malfoy!  _Scourgify!_ ".  
  
"Draco, I can't imagine your parents allowed you to behave like that at the dinner table."  
  
"At least we had a  _proper_  table. None of this board-and-trestle business. Did you find it in a bin and bring it home?"  
  
"Draco Malfoy! How --"  
  
"Bugger!"  
  
"Ginny, language! For heaven's sake!"  
  
"Mum, if he flicks one more pea in my hair I'm going to hex him with bat bogeys again!"  
  
"You certainly will not, young lady. Draco -- that's it, young man!  _Evanesco!_  If you can't be civil, you'll have to eat by yourself. And Arthur, do something! Maybe a little helping out in the garage might straighten him out. It did wonders for the other boys, and I've just about had it with this one!"  
  
::---------------------------::  
  
"What's this supposed to do?" said Draco, picking up an oddly heavy item by the hand grip. It had a trigger like a Muggle gun and a slender, spiral-cut cylinder of metal sticking out of the barrel. He hooked his finger around the trigger, and the spiral whizzed into motion.  
  
"It's called a drill. Muggles use it to poke holes. And this over here is called a hammer. They smash these little pointy things called males into walls and hang pictures on them."  
  
Draco smirked. "Don't you mean 'nails?'"  
  
"...And this over here is a motorbike. Muggles use it to --"  
  
"I know what Muggles use motorbikes for!"  
  
"Well! It's good to see you've taken an interest in something of the Muggle world."  
  
"I couldn't care less. No one asked  _me_  where  _I_  wanted to go. I'm perfectly capable of staying at home on my own. I've  _house elves_ , you know."  
  
"It isn't safe for you, Draco." He sat down heavily on the stool before the workbench, and looked the boy in the eye. "Your father and I don't agree on much. Don't agree on anything, actually. But I can't stand by and watch you suffer for his mistakes. No," he held a hand up, "I'm sure you don't see it that way, but despite your name, you don't have any power of your own, yet. Sons and younger brothers never do."  
  
He reached over the bench and pulled a bright pink cloth off the shelf and something else that resembled a ruffled rag. "You won't while you're here, either, until you learn some manners. You're making Molly unhappy, and when Molly is unhappy, I am unhappy. I'm a simple man, Draco. I like when the house runs like a well-oiled Muggle machine, and when Molly's happy, it does. So you're going to help out by learning proper, polite behavior instead of mimicking a pig. We have something to learn from Muggles, here, too, you know. They aren't all about inventing clever ways of poking holes in things. Now, are you ready? Let's begin. Remove your outer robe, and put this on."  
  
"What is it? It's awfully small to be a robe. It looks like a skirt."  
  
Arthur turned on his stool and faced the boy. "It  _is_  a skirt. Muggles wear them."  
  
"Surely not the boys!"  
  
"Of course they do, when they're being punished."  
  
"What! I've never..."  
  
"Now, now! It's all here in  _Madame Mercy's Guide to Punishing Boys_." Arthur pulled the aging Muggle book down from a high shelf, and thumbed through it. "See? Fascinating, isn't it. Of course, the color plates don't move, but the detail is exquisite!"  
  
He set the book down open to the chapter "Introducing the Proper Environment for Reform: The Punishment."  
  
Draco leaned over and looked. Arthur kept an eager, glittery eye on him while he looked at the picture. A boy stood there, thunderous with anger and shame, his cheeks blushing bright and his hand pressed down the front of himself, trying in vain to push the puffy, pleated skirt flat. One knee turned in and the leg balanced on the toe of a Mary Jane that would have been appropriate on a boy one-quarter his age. Or a girl. Yes, with petticoats like that, definitely a girl. Draco shivered and looked away, but Arthur thought his blush betrayed an eagerness that wasn't there before.  
  
"Now, let's have that robe off. All set? Right then, here we are. Step into the skirt first. Mind the buttons in the back. Now, remove your trous and smalls."  
  
Draco slid his trousers down beneath the skirt and folded them on the workbench. But he balked. "I will NOT remove my underwear!"  
  
"It says right here in the book you've got to! Now remove them, or I'll have to do it for you."  
  
"No."  
  
"Very well, then." Arthur grabbed the boy by the waist and tipped him over his lap. Draco thrashed and squirmed, but Arthur had subdued Fred and George not so long ago and didn't need to look in the book to know what came next. He'd tested the waters on Bill, and improved his technique with Charlie. Percy, he'd only had to get the skirt on once before he was shamed and crying and doing everything he was told.  
  
Fred and George, however had tested him. He had repeatedly had to milk them until they were too tired and drained to do anything but submit. The book, of course, recommended strapping them face up on the table for it, but Arthur found that a spell to tack them in place worked just as well. On one particularly fractious afternoon, George had required five milkings before he could settle down for his mother -- Draco was little trouble at all. In a moment the boy lay pantsless and heaving, an erection born of the excited struggle drilling into his thigh.  
  
Arthur pulled up the seat of the skirt and slapped his hand down on the creamy, velvet skin. He did it again. And he did it again, and again, until Draco was kicking and screaming "Stop! It hurts!" and more, until he was crying like a little girl and his arse sported a rosy blush.  
  
"Naughty girls get corner time. But first, put on your petticoat." The boy sobbed and sniffed and stamped his foot, but stepped into the garment when it was held out for him. Arthur stretched the elastic over the boy's erection and said "Go stand over there." He pointed to a cluttered area at the end of the workbench. "Face the wall."  
  
The boy sniffled; he dipped his cheek to his shoulder to dry his tears. He kept an awkward hand on his erection, pushing it in so it wouldn't pouf out the skirt even more than the petticoat, and rubbed the other on his arse in a futile attempt to put out the flames.  
  
"None of that, now. Hands above your head. Yes, both of them." He tacked them to the wall with a charm. "And let's keep your reminder to behave in sight, too." He raised the back of the pleated skirt and tucked the hem into the waistband, then pulled the elastic waist of the petticoat down under the crease of the boy's buttocks. Draco's arse blazed in the evening light filtering through the dusty window. The skirt raised like a flag over his erection.  
  
" _That's_  certainly unladylike!" The book was clear on what to do about it, too, and Arthur had no compunction about following the directions. They worked terribly well. He pressed himself into the glowing arse in front of him, reached around, and went to work with a will. His hands pulled on the clothed shaft in front of him and he said things like "there you are," and "we'll take care of that, now," and finally "yes! spill your girl-cream! There, now, you must be feeling much better." But it was hard to tell; the boy was sobbing and kept his head turned away. Arthur patted the skirt down flat in the front and said "Well, then, let's move on. At this point I need to ask you if you're ready to behave. Well? Are you ready to mind Molly, yet? Are you ready to adopt ladylike manners around the house?"  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"Well! I suppose not. Never fear, though. Madame Mercy is quite clear on next steps. If you won't take up ladylike behaviour on your own, I'll have to force you accept your girlish nature." Arthur took up a little jar on the workbench with a Muggle label on it that read Pond's Cold Cream. He tweaked open the buttons of his trousers and his erection sprang free. It was quite thick and long, and desperately hard. A twist of the lid, and he was rubbing a thick, white salve on his cock. He dipped his fingers into the jar again and the boy's eyes popped wide and his breath hitched when Arthur slid the dollop between the boy's cheeks and directly into his arse. The boy looked a question at Arthur and struggled to pull his arms down off the wall.  
  
"Yes, Draco. Madame Mercy suggests I take you like a girl. This worked for Fred and George, and it will work for you, too." He continued to work his fingers into Draco's arse, and the boy began to sob again.  
  
"It...you can't! It won't fit. It won't -- you'll tear me!"  
  
"Oh, no, Draco. Little girls don't tear unless they're virgin. You aren't virgin, are you? Ron says they call you the Slut of Slytherin."  
  
"I've slept with girls! I'm not gay."  
  
"Of course not. Well, this might hurt a bit, then, but nothing a little healing salve won't fix up afterwards. Ready? Aim... ah!" He grunted. "That was easier than I thought it would be. Why are you crying? That wasn't so bad."  
  
"Please -- please stop." The boy sobbed. "I'm ready to behave. I swear it! Just please stop... stop  _ramming_  me!"  
  
"You need" puff "to take" heave "your full" whoo! "punishment." Wow, he was out of practice with this. It had been two years since Fred and George's last lesson. "Madame Mercy is simply adamant about it, and I agree. Oh!" The tight, slick slide of the boy's arse whipped him into a frenzy and he began to thrust in earnest. He changed the angle a bit and the boy cried out as he thrust.  
  
The sobbing turned to moans, the "No!"s to "Oh!"s, and Arthur knew the punishment had worked when the boy began to shout "Take me! Oh, take me! I promise to be good, I promise, just, don't stop! Please, don't stop!"  
  
When Draco went stiff and quivered in release, he spilled. He spelled the boy's wrists free from the wall, pulled him over to the ottoman on the far wall, and drew him down to his lap. The boy buried his face in Arthur's neck and Arthur let him sob himself out.  
  
::---------------------------::  
  
"Well, then dear," said Molly. "Are you ready to behave?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry I was such a prat."  
  
"All's forgiven, then."  
  
"May I help you with the dishes?"  
  
"Certainly! Here, I'll wash, you wipe. Well... what did you learn with Arthur with in the garage?"  
  
"Oh, all sorts of Muggle things. In fact, he drilled me quite thoroughly."  
  
"That's lovely, dear."  
  
"Yes, it was. It  _really_  was."  
  
~fin~ 


End file.
